


Neon Smoke

by ArmsShanks



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Hookups, Depression, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jamie is an eccentric tech-industry mogul, M/M, Mako is a depressed war vet, PTSD, Trans Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, implied sexy times but no explicit description, mild dub-con (they're both drunk), sorry - Freeform, with a side of Sombra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 13:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14262417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmsShanks/pseuds/ArmsShanks
Summary: AU that's been running around in my head for awhile. I'm going to be writing it mostly in very short chapters/drabbles and often based loosely around the themes fromGigi's Weekly Roadrat Assignments.A rich weirdo hits on a depressed asshole and they may or may not be a good influence on the other.





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you like chickens? Because I’ve got a handsome cock looking for a home.”

All Mako wants is a beer or five - just a brief period of reprieve from himself. He’s made it to beer three but the atmosphere is not quite the one he’s used to for these stints. His usual bar - a hole in the wall two blocks from his apartment - was closed as the barkeep’s mother was in the hospital or some such. The next closest was significantly more of a hike, so it hadn’t been lightly that he chose to come here.

There are a number of things Mako is slowly cataloguing about this new venue that he dislikes. The music is far too loud, and far too upbeat. There are also a number of flashing lights that has him keeping his eyes mostly shut as he nurses his drink. They clearly exist to light up a dance floor which takes up a large section of the place. The place even seems to have a DJ who yells out gibberish occasionally between songs full of sweeping electronic soundscapes and beats that thump uncomfortably in his broad chest.

The drinks are more expensive too, though there is a wider selection. There’s also significantly less smoke, so that’s nice. The negatives easily outweigh the positives of this fancier, upscale bar though. The clientele is clean and young and Mako feels judged just sitting at the bar and nursing his drink.

All told, the most obnoxious feature of the bar by far is the twink that keeps making passes at him every ten minutes or so.

“Hey, I lost my underwear, can I see yours?

Mako has been ignoring him for the better part of an hour. He’s not interested. He hasn’t been interested in much of anything for a very long time. He refuses to turn towards the other man and grimaces inwardly at how the reedy, high-pitched voice manages to pierce through the booming bass of the music.

He normally drinks until last call, but he has a feeling that’s not going to happen tonight. He has a mounting headache and the one funcy beverage he ordered earlier in the night has seen his sobriety long gone. Mission accomplished at least - he can get out of this miserable place. He hurries to finish his current drink.

“Are you a keyboard? Because ‘u’ and ‘me’ should- wait, fuck.”

The vocal flub actually makes Mako snort and a bit of the alcohol goes down the wrong way. He gives a series of deep, hacking coughs and feels a foreign, metallic touch on his arm. As he calms, he shoots a glare towards the man.

Seeing him properly for the first time is cringe-inducing. The man is tall and thin and wearing an ungodly bright scrap of fabric that could only generously be referred to as a top. His hair is blonde and wild and his eyes are wide-open, reflecting the flashing lights. His mouth is slightly open in some strange expression - awe? He might be drunk. Possibly high. Mako cuts off his appraisal and shrugs off the man’s hand.

“Fuck off.”

Mako’s voice is low but he knows it will carry. The man seems to shake himself out of his strange reverie and a shark's grin stretches across his face. “ _Christ_ , even your voice is… fuck mate.”

Mako rolls his eyes and looks quickly back to his drink. He chugs it down his sore throat and sets the bottle back down with a clatter. He reaches into his worn wallet to pull out money.

A shiny orange hand beats him to the punch, slamming down several bills that look like more money than it takes to pay for a beer. He opens his mouth but the man outspeeds him to it again.

“Want somethin’? Pick ya poison, mate. On the house.”

Mako raises an eyebrow. _The house?_

The man seems to read his mind. “Ah, I mean, I don’t own the place, but I’ll pay!”

Mako stares at the skinny idiot a moment longer. Mako is done. He moves to get up, getting off the stool and immediately putting his now much taller bulk into the man’s way to get him to back off.

He doesn’t. Bright eyes drag down to the gut now practically pressing into his abdomen. He looks back up with a dazed grin. “Ya like this song? Bet you’re pretty light on your feet when ya wanna b-”

Mako shoves clumsily past him for the exit and the other man stumbles out of the way. Mako is not a fan of people touching him, least of all when he’s drunk. People are supposed to stay away from him. Everything’s loud and bright and the impression of someone else too close makes _everything_ feel too close. The bass booms in his chest again, slower than his heartbeat.

“C’mon, mate! Please. I’ve got money I can pay ya-”

A touch on his arm combined with the incensing statement does it and old instincts take over. Mako swings wild, and his fist connects with something small and hard. The twink goes down like a sack of flamboyantly coloured bricks and Mako’s hammering heart stops for a moment.

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to do that.

People are looking at him now. Well, them. A few people have stopped their dancing to stare in concern and it appears the bartender has taken notice. Shit shit shit.

“Hooley dooley…”

The idiotic statement from the man on the floor is muffled. He seems dazed, but he’s conscious, which is a little impressive. Mako can practically see the stars flying around the man’s head as he looks up, blood streaming from his now-crooked nose. He’s grinning like a goddamn lunatic. From his prone position on the floor, Mako can see the man’s tight pants straining and he quickly snaps his gaze back to the stupid face.

“My place or yours?” the man slurs.

“Mine,” Mako says quickly.

“Oooo!”

Mako’s too drunk for this shit but the bartender is reaching for a phone and he would rather not spend the night in jail for assault. He actually takes flailing hand raised in his direction and pulls the man up. He’s immediately plastered to Mako’s side, giggling, and smearing his blood on Mako’s jacket. They stumble through the side exit of the bar and into an alley. Mako pulls them towards the street and looks around to get his bearings, trying to figure out which way is home from the unfamiliar street. He’ll have to waste money on a cab; he tries to remember where his phone is to call.

A pleasant feeling distracts him and looks down to see slender fingers with chrome-painted nails clumsily pawing at his crotch. He grunts in weak protest and is cut off by a much softer version of the high-pitched voice practically pleading, “ _Please_ , mate…” as the man's blonde head dips down.

Mako’s vision is swimming and by the time he fully acknowledges what’s going on, it feels too good to bother stopping it.

Maybe he hasn’t been interested in anything for a long time, but having it isn’t so bad.

Most of what Mako remembers from that point on consists of an unfamiliar car, an ornate entranceway, a reedy, breathless laugh and a too-plush bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Jamison Fawkes wakes up in his own bed, which he is immediately proud of. He can tell it’s his before he opens his eyes from the softness of the sheets. He nuzzles into them, hoping the silk will ease the oncoming rush of his hangover. A second later, he becomes aware of the sound of deep, slow breaths.

He gasps, jerking up in bed. He immediately regrets the motion as black spots swirl in his vision, his head throbs, and for some reason, his nose is hurting an awful lot too. He holds his temples and blinks slowly.

When his vision stops tripling, he assesses that yes, his vague memory of an incredibly attractive man at the bar has followed him home. Jamie’s motion seems not to have woken him, so he settles back down, resting his chin on his palms, elbows supporting him on the mattress, so he can observe.

The man he picked up is massive. He has a broad nose, dusky skin, and light, silvery hair. He also has a nasty scar puckering the skin just under and up to his right eye. His full lips are drawn in a deep and permanent frown. As Jamie looks down, he notes the significant rise and fall of the man’s gut, with irregular but deep breaths. Light sleep apnea? He tilts his head.

Jamie can’t recall ever finding someone who so fit his type before; he silently thanks whatever the hell he took last night for somehow gifting him with whatever charisma allowed this to happen.

Despite his foggy head, he feels a stirring and squirms, hoping very much he can initiate a second round once his stranger wakes up.

He becomes aware of an additional sound accompanying the breathing. This one is more regular, but less calming. He happens to look down to see it’s being caused by the dripping of blood coming from his face and into a small pool forming on the surface of the bed.

“Cunt!” he hisses and covers his nose, which immediately blossoms into further pain. He flails and scrambles up, not wanting to get more blood on his precious sheets. He glares at the deep red spot soaking into the bed and lets out a muffled groan of despair.

He dashes away to his attached bathroom with its cold ivory tile and black walls and checks out the damage to his face. Looks like he got his nose broken. Hunh. Apparently he’d set it last night at least, as it’s in the right spot. A quick once-over with a wet washcloth reveals that his nose and the real estate around it is ripe with a bouquet of colourful bruises. He pouts into the gold-lined mirror; he looks as shitty as he feels. He turns to a mess of pill bottles on the counter and finds some simple painkillers and downs them with a gulp of water.

Ugh. Ughhhhhh. He drags his feet back to the bedroom to see if he can salvage the sheets- Oh. OH right there was a hot guy in his bed, currently staring him down. Impressive, considering he’s still largely laying down.

“...Good morning!” Jamie chirps, putting on his most winning smile through the blossoming pain in his face.

A beat passes; the man is still just staring at him. His eyes twitch enough to have Jamie remember he’s currently nude. He cocks his hips slightly and raises a hopeful eyebrow.

Silence.

Silence makes Jamie uncomfortable and his grin feels a bit more forced. “Like whatcha see?” Silence. “Ready for round two?” Silence. The man’s eyes are narrowing.

Shit, what if it’s the trans thing. Some guys didn’t like that. Jamie looks down at himself and jolts in overdramatic fashion. “Oh shit, my dick broke off too!”

The man actually gives a gentle snort of amusement at that, and Jamie feels a small weight lift. “Oh well, what’s another lost limb.” He taps his prosthetic foot on the ground. “Rough night, hunh? Want some painkillers?”

“...Yes.”

“Bonzer!” Jamie yips a little too quickly. He grabs a light robe before spinning back into the bathroom. Moving quickly makes him feel light-headed but he hurries to bring a cup of water and a bottle of tylenol to the bedside, sashaying his hips in a way he hopes is subtle.

The man takes what Jamie offers him, scrutinizing the bottle briefly before downing a pair of pills - Jamie is only a little offended. He sits on the side of the bed and forces his eyes away from the red stain on the sheets. He really fucking loved these sheets- they were so bright and soft and it’s hard to find high quality stuff in yellow-

“Where am I?”

The gravelly voice makes Jamie’s breath catch and he snaps up. “My humble abode. Welcome, by the way.”

Damn, this guy has striking eyes. They’re deep set, and mismatched, which catches his attention - it looks like whatever had caused the scar on his face had reached his eye as well. It’s a pale, barely present grey, while the other is a dull blue. Beautiful.

“-far is it from that bar?”

“Pardon?” Jamie snaps to, realizing that pleasantly deep voice is going at it again.

The man sighs deeply and turns, probably looking for his phone. Jamie’s heart sinks.

“Sure you don’t wanna stick around and have some more…” Jamie trails off, the man isn’t looking pleased as his massive hands cup a comically small phone. Jamie speaks again. “What’s the rush? Could get you a spot of brekkie- not healthy to take painkillers on an empty stomach, you know!”

It takes a moment, but the man finally looks back up from the phone, seemingly satisfied with at least knowing where he is on the map. Jamie feels studied in a way that makes him feel almost uncomfortable. It’s different than the way most people look at him. He wishes he was wearing something nicer and didn’t have a mangled mess of a face right now. He feels goosebumps form.

“Sure.”

“Hunh?”

“Food,” the man rumbles.

“Roight!” Jamie hops up, and the man doesn’t follow, staying with his lower half under the sheets. “Roight,” he says again, mostly to himself. He leaves his dream of actually sober sex at the door as he sweeps out of the room to let the man dress in privacy.

He conveniently left his pants from last night in the hallway leading to his room and he puts them on with moderate difficulty, manipulating his prosthetic through the one leg. He grouses at the appearance of blood on them, but it’s minor. By the time the hallway leads into the open-concept kitchen and dining area, he’s remembered that he has virtually no food in the house and he curses. He doesn’t think the stranger will go for a meal out so he scrambles on his phone to order something from the closest cafe that delivers. He grabs a bit of several items, hoping it pays off and he gets something the guy likes.

He must be taking his time in the bathroom. Jamie grouses, perched on a stool next to the bar counter-top. He drums the metal fingers of his right hand along the polished surface, digits clicking rhythmically. It echos against the stainless steel of the appliances and glossy hardwood floors. He gets caught staring at his own hand; this one with its bright yellow fingers does not match his current look, but his casual extras are back in his closet. At one point, he jumps up, realizing the accompanying stool will probably be too small for his guest, and drags over a fancier chair from elsewhere. A little low but, it would do. As he inspects his handiwork, the food arrives and he hurries to spread it across the counter while the man- gosh was he tall- wanders into the kitchen area. He looks around critically at the high ceilings and geometrically sharp angles of his too-clean home, lips drawn.

“Who’s house is this?”

“Mine, thought I said?”

The man looks deeply skeptical, but his eyes drag from Jamie to the food and gives a nearly imperceptible shrug as he sits down to eat. Jamie joins him.

He takes a bite of sausage before deciding to see what he can wring from this interaction before the stranger disappears. “Jamison Fawkes, by the way.”

He holds out his hand. The metal limb is eyed for just a moment before a massive hand shakes it. Jamie is so caught with capturing the image of the contrast in sizes for that brief moment that he nearly misses the softly spoken “Mako” in return.

_Mako_. Jamie wants to say more, but Mako seems more interested in the food and his stomach is inclined to agree. It relishes the taste of greasy hash browns and caramelized onions.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Mako speaks, again quiet. His broad hand gestures towards Jamie’s face and Jamie turns around to see what he’s pointing at before he realizes it’s _him_. A hand reaches up to his nose in reflex.

“That was you?”

“Think so.”

“Hooley dooley.”

“That’s what you said then, too.”

Jamie isn’t sure to how to follow that up, but he thinks he sees a hint of a smile on Mako’s sullen face. Alarm bells ring in his head; _maybe this isn’t a lost cause!_

“Haven’t had my face broken since I was an anklebiter, cheers,” Jamie tilts his fork due to lack of a glass. He gets up to rectify that and grab some drinks.

“In my defense, you were being a real prick.”

Jamie’s stomach does a weird flip flop and he lets out a nervous titter. “Sounds about right.”

The obvious question hangs in the air and Jamie hopes Mako will answer it unprompted, but he seems to be a man of few words. Gulping down some cool water and returning to his seat, Jamie clears his throat to speak again. “So ehh, if I was bein’ such a shit, why’d ya…”

A very subtle grimace crosses Mako’s face and Jamie curses himself.

“Really drunk I guess.”

“Fair enough.”

Jamie’s metallic fingers trace the rim of the glass. He shouldn’t feel as disappointed as he does. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Get wrecked, forget it all for awhile, maybe have a little fun with a stranger and then go on with life. It feels hollow this time though; the stranger’s silences are a wholly foreign thing to Jamie and his social experience. Everyone around him was always talking. No one ever shut up, least of all him.

Mako has downed a surprising amount of food, but he appears to be finishing up. For once in his life, Jamie’s voice catches in his throat as he debates asking for a number.

“I know I probably made a right ass of myself but-”

The dulcet tones of Rihanna's _Work_ burst into the air and Jamie jumps. “Fuck!” He snarls and rips his phone out from his pocket. He furiously taps the button to hang up. He can practically see the musical critique written across Mako’s face and Jamie groans. “Ringtone for my-”

The phone sings again

“ _Work_.” Jamie hisses, hanging up again. “Bloody… three days off and the whole place goes to shit.”

When the phone goes off a third time, Jamie picks it up, hisses “later” into the mic and then turns the damn thing off before Phil can retaliate. Mako raises an eyebrow.

“One of my directors.” He hunches his shoulders and leans against the counter. “Don’t know their heads from their asses, though… to be fair I don’t really let them so much as touch my things without them runnin’ it by me. Fuckin’ assholes.”

He picks up a fork to fiddle with an uneaten hashbrown, looking as nonchalant as he can. _Take the bait please take the bait please-_

“What do you do?”

“So kind of you to ask!” Jamie drops the fork with a clatter and sits up, his grin back in full force even as the motion makes his nose ache. “You know Fawkes Engineering?”

Mako thinks for a moment. “Mighta heard of it.”

“Well, I’m the Fawkes! CEO and all that.” For something he so often wears like deadweight, he can’t help but preen when it’s in front of this guy. “I designed the robotics that manufacture most of our cars, at least in the western half of the world. As well as automated systems and mechanics for a lot of other shit. Also dabbled in prosthetics for, you know, reasons.” He idly waves his mechanical hand as he talks. “Streamlined the process of building limbs and made the tech to have them integrate with nervous systems a lot cheaper. I still do some work in the shop but nowadays it’s mostly managing what I’ve got and making sure my board of directors managing all this shit stays in line. Buncha greedy cunts.” He takes a sip of water to let his words settle.

“Really,” Mako’s voice is deadpan flat.

“Yes, really.” Jamie attempts to scrunch his nose in indignation with the retort but it just makes him flinch and put a hand to his face.

“This is really your house.”

“Well, yeah. I’m not fuckin’ squatting, mate.”

His words are sarcastic but his tone is light. Jamie isn’t used to people not knowing who he is, and it’s a little refreshing. He supposes his large house on the edge of the city is pretty impressive, with its vaulted ceilings and modern, clean edges. Eclectic art he finds attractive or funny splashes colour onto the walls that he couldn’t be arsed to renovate further.

Mako seems to shrink just a touch as he lets out a “Hunh.”

“Uhhnnnn-hunh.” Jamie drawls out proudly. Mostly he’s glad the stranger hasn’t left yet. His mouth runs off before his brain, eager to share more in hopes of impressing Mako. “Starting to get into developing new construction materials for buildings; I do miss working with chemistry.”

“Is there anything you don’t do?” Mako’s tone is dry and sarcastic.

“I try to spread a wide net.” He grins, cat-like. “There’s no limits to what I can get into, mate. Engineering, robotics, microprocessing, prosthetics… sexy older men…”

He winks. Mako stares.

A telephone ring sounds.

Jamie’s head snaps; it’s coming from down the hall. “God _damnit_ I told them I didn’t need a fucking landline. It’s not fuckin’ nineteen-ninety-two anymore.” He stomps off to find the thing hidden behind an impressive metal sculpture he purchased because it reminded him of a massive dick. It takes him a couple minutes to find. He rips out the cable. "How'd he even get the  _number_..." he marvels to himself in frustration.

By the time he gets back and grabs his real phone, Mako is on his way out the door, though he looks like he may have accidentally wandered down the wrong hallway and has now reached the foyer. “Wait!” Jamie yelps, and it echoes through the house.

Mako stops, hand on the doorway.

“Can I have your number?”

Mako turns around at Jamie’s breathless question. He seems legitimately confused. “I don’t… why?”

Jamie blinks. It’s a good question. He spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Because you’re fuckin’ _gorgeous!_ ”

Is that just a hint of a blush he sees on the older man’s face? Holy shit.

“You bothered me an hour and then begged for sex and we were both very drunk. And I broke your nose.”

Jamie grins through the wince. “Mum always said I was good at first impressions.” He holds out his phone, hope masked by a shit-eating grin. _Please please please please-_

“...”

Mako takes the phone.

_YES_.

“It’s not on.”

“Fuck- one second-”

A car honks from outside; looks like Mako’s called a cab while Jamie was off. Shit, he really must want to get out of here. “O-okay just…”

“I can’t afford to make someone wait-”

“Just! One second- ah!”

There’s a pen sitting on a small table in his entranceway. He grabs it and then- respectfully, removes his phone and opens up Mako’s palm. Forcing himself to not be distracted by the size and warmth of the massive hand, he scrawls down his phone number as clearly as he possibly can on someone else’s skin. It’s a shock he manages to remember it at all, especially given the circumstances.

“Please? Doesn’t have to be for sex or nothin’. Or it can be! Send me a text so I’ve got yours, or something! I can-”

Mako’s ducked out the front door and is on his way into a cab that looks just a bit too small for him. When he gets in, Jamie can see Mako looking down at his palm for just a second as the car drives away.

It happens so suddenly that Jamie feels whiplash. One second he’s doing his best to woo an attractive, quiet, mysterious handsome man in his home and the next he’s standing at his open door in nothing but a robe and a pair of bloodstained pants, holding a pen like an idiot.

“He’s never going to call me back,” Jamie lets out a long sigh into the morning air before shutting the front door. His words, spoken quietly into the area were enough to sound awkward and hollow in this hollow space for his hollow self.

Alone again. Aloooone again. Bitterness swells and-

‘ _Work work work work work_ ,’

Goddamnit he’d switched his phone on while trying to get Mako’s number and- that’s obviously not Mako. He picks up the call this time, screaming _Fuck you Phil!_ , but only in his head.

“Okay what in the nine goddamn bloody hells was so important that you had to call me six times!?”

Phil starts talking about an aggressive company wanting to buy out and assimilate his prosthetic division. It’s a company Jamie knows well for its overpricing and manipulative tactics. Jamie has made it clear that that sort of shit does not fly under the umbrella of Fawkes Engineering. This, tragically, is actually something he needed to pay attention to.

“Fine, _fine_ ,” he listens to Phil rant as Jame strolls back into the bathroom to peruse the small selection of coverup makeup he has. “I’ll be in in an hour. Gotta freshen up; some bloke broke my nose last night.” Jamie’s tone is almost dreamy.

The voice coming from his phone screams back some mixture of shock and anger and _what happened? Did you press charges? Fawkes, what are you-_

Jamie hangs up the phone and looks at himself once more in the mirror. His long fingers hover over the pale coverup but-

He remembers a nice deep maroon suit he bought for some specifically themed formal function which could be paired nicely with a blood red dress-shirt. A rich navy tie - tame by his usual standards - would complete the acessorization of the damn-near artistic mess of colours his face is turning. He grabs just a bit of smokey red eyeshadow to finish the look.

Jamison Fawkes, one richest men currently in the tech industry, always goes out of his way to find the fun in everything. Life is too short for anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt for this one, just needed to set some stages. :>
> 
> Thank ya Thyme and Silly for the beta. <3


	3. Chapter 3

Something smells fucking horrible.

Mako scrunches his nose; someone needs to clean up the goddamn hole. It’s due for a good burning and dousing with sand. A new hole would be dug for the shit, as usual. It’s probably Bruce’s turn to do the dirty deed. Mako had done it last time.

He keeps his watch along the sandy dunes, but the stink is distracting. It doesn’t quite smell the way it normally does, but his sense of normal has long been skewed. He shifts slightly, adjusting his gear, and hopes the wind changes direction soon.

The wind is biting; he feels the movement more than the hot or cold of it. A dusting of wispy clouds are making fast tracks across the sky, covering and revealing stars as they go. The sand blows wildly, dancing across the lowland he’s watching over. Not much interrupts the desert save for a distant cluster of stone buildings, low to the ground and crowding around a barely perceptible road like ants. The village has no electricity, so there are no lights to show signs of life this late. Mako knows there are there though.

Sometimes he likes to imagine he’s watching over them specifically. He’s met the people of the village several times on trips down to discuss the state of things with its elders. The children peered from behind their mother’s clothing at the massive man from somewhere far away. He offered them the remains of a chocolate bar he’d been saving, and he instantly became their favourite.

Mako shifts his grip on the binoculars, trying to stay alert. Boredom is the most dangerous thing in this desert, considering the utter lack of action his troop sees at this post. He used to spend his time thinking about the series of choices that lead him here, and how he probably should have chosen differently. It doesn’t matter anymore though. The _what ifs_ and what _would haves_ that were once sharp barbs have been declawed, sanded and smoothed down like the rest of the desert valley.

One of the clouds crosses over the moon, and the night becomes a pit in a sea in a black hole of endless expanse of nothing. He draws in a deep breath, feeling almost weighless. His extremities tingle. He closes his eyes.

God, that fucking _stench_ though-

There’s a quiet crunching of gravel- finally. “About time,” Mako grumbles quietly. “After morning you better clean that thi-”

Everything goes white.

\---

Mako’s eyes fly open and his hand slaps to his face. A glass falls down from somewhere.

Again. Again again _again_ always _that-_

He grinds the heel of his palm into his blank eye and feels the throbbing from a wound long healed. His breath is coming in erratic gasps and he grasps his other hand wildly for something to grab onto- it ends up being the side of his couch. He fell asleep in front of the TV again, shit.

He grips the rough fabric for dear life as his senses come back, one by one. He is at home. He is at home. He is in his apartment. He is here. He is fine.

The routine is old hat by now. He takes his time. He counts the seconds of his breaths and gradually forces them to slow, just like his old therapist taught him. His fingers trace over the fabric of the couch, worn and a little scratchy. He listens to the daytime traffic outside until he can’t hear the blood pounding in his ears or the sound of wind running over a desert two continents away.

Something still smells.

The realization has his heart hammering away again. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe he’s not here. Maybe he got hit in the fucking head with god knows what and Bruce is poking him in the eye instead of doing his damn job like a good sold-

“Stop,” He says aloud, and his voice is weak. He clears his throat to try again.

“Stop.”

That is a bit better. The word echoes off the walls. It smells but it’s not shit. It’s something in his apartment. He’s not a fucking idiot. He’s not crazy.

He is _not_ crazy.

He gives his body a brief moment to stop feeling light-headed from the hyperventilating he had apparently been doing and makes himself a small list of tasks. One, take his medication. Two, find whatever’s making that stench.

It takes him a moment to fish for his pills; they’re a relatively mild sedative to help with his attacks. He’s had his stints with more intensive, regular prescription drugs for anxiety and mood disorders, and they didn’t do him any favors. He downs one with a gulp of room-temperature water.

One down. Easy enough.

His one bedroom apartment on the third floor of a midtown apartment building is far from impressive, but at least it’s reasonably clean today. He’d felt driven to give the place a reasonably thorough clean after his brief experience in… that guy’s veritable mansion of a home. If that walking disaster managed to keep a house clean, Mako, a grown-ass adult, should be able to keep the trash off the floor.

Things are slowly sliding back into disarray, and he grimaces. He should spend his day before work cleaning and trying to keep up a good habit. His head still swims enough to discourage it, and he focuses on the one smell. Given how small the space is, the source isn’t immediately obvious, despite the strength of it. He stacks a set of pizza boxes and old containers for the microwave meals that make up most of his diet.

Maybe Jamison has a cleaning service or something; he doesn’t seem like the type to get his hands dirty. Or he doesn’t spend much time at the house. It looked pretty spare when Mako wandered through it.

He stacks a few plates so he can look around the tiny kitchen counter better, and even sets them closer to sink for easier cleaning. Baby steps, right? He sniffs; _ugh_. He must be getting close.

He still doesn’t know what to make of the… ‘one night stand’, he supposes he should call it. His memories from the evening itself are spare, but he _guesses_ he enjoyed himself? It’s been a very long time since he’d indulged in anything sexual, and flitting memories of toned abs and bright, orange eyes has him thinking back and wanting for company.

It doesn’t change anything, not that there’s anything to change. He heaves a sigh, and then hacks a cough at the smell.

_There_.

It’s a small, vented container of fruit salad. He remembers purchasing it after work; it had been about to go bad, so it had been cheap. He used to eat a lot of fruit. He loved it back in the day, and he always made an effort to eat healthy. It’s expensive for him now, and if he doesn’t eat it right away it will just go bad, much like this little package.

The various fruits are still colourful, and even in their state it makes his taste buds yearn for something sweet. The edges cling together with a sticky, off-white and grey mold, as if pulling the colours and shapes into something uniform and unappealing.

A deep disgust rises somewhere in his chest, like it’s settling on his heart. He used to be a person, now he’s not. He used to have friends, now he doesn’t. He used to do this and that and volunteer and try to make a difference and love his pet and now he sits in a home barely fit for a college student dorm. He’s past his prime and turning unshapely and grey, just like the fruit.

The fruit stinks.

He calls himself an idiot for waxing poetic over moldy bullshit and he tosses it in the full trash bin. He takes the initiative to tie it up and even walks down several stairs to toss it into the dumpster behind his apartment building. The heavy lid of it slams shut with an echoing clang.

He takes the elevator back up because his knees can only take so much of those stairs in a day. Luckily, it is absent of people side-eyeing him for his weight on the questionable lift. Stepping back into his drab apartment feels like coming home to his tomb as he shuts the door and wonders what he’s going to do with himself.

Whenever that question comes up, he knows a crash is to follow. He makes fists with his hands, clenching and unclenching them.

The apartment is still smelly, even with the main source of the offending odor gone. He opens the two small windows to let in some fresh air, despite the chilly nip of the breeze. He rests his hands on the windowsill and pulls in a few deep breaths of clear, cold air, and it makes him feel more awake than he has all day.

The sun is setting slowly over the landscape of concrete and glass. It reflects off the more modern of the designs, and combined with the slight haze the city has today, the sides catch brilliant panes of orange and pink light. It’s beautiful.

It’s also a stark contrast to what he has in his home.

He looks back into his place, and he hates every inch of the grey and the boring and the messy and pathetic he and his apartment have become. The sunlight manages to pierce inside the veil of his habitat just a bit though, highlighting old bottles and characterless walls. The narrow beam of light jumps forward to follow the blocky contour of his fridge. There’s one note on it, held up by an old magnet business card left by some plumber ages ago.

_“Because you’re fuckin’ gorgeous!”_

Mako buries his head in his hands. What is he doing. With himself. With his life. _What is he doing-_

He transcribed the desperately scribbled number off of his hand before he washed it. He doesn’t know why.

_“Hooley dooley…” Orange eyes that look up in unbridled awe. Even as blood pours out of his face._

Sometimes it hits Mako very acutely that he wouldn’t mind dying. The sun sets. Car horns honk, and the smell dissipates.

No one would miss him.

_“Please, mate…”_

He’s an idiot for chasing the warm light of the sunset, and for wishing back the mold over the fruit. Maybe he’s less of an idiot for reaching out though; it’s what his therapist used to tell him to do. He holds off the debate in the face of an oncoming episode by carefully tapping the numbers into his phone, his other hand clenched too tight around the little machine. Before his better judgement - the one that would see him rot - he enters the digits into his phone and types out a quick _h, e, y_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based on prompt: Mako's smell. Because I am a professional at taking sexy things and making them gross. *finger guns*
> 
> Thanks to Thyme for betaaasfdaafsvh


	4. Chapter 4

Jamie stumbles into his home with an ill temper and a headache. He shucks his clothing with little care onto a plush chair in the main area of his home; he doesn’t spend much time here. The bedroom and his private workshop are his typical haunts. He’ll pick up his mess when he’s more inclined but for now, he is happy to let his limp show.

His bedroom is the only carpeted area in the house, because modern designers cared about fancy things and not comfort. He pokes his head into his modified walk-in closet, which is two-third outfits and one third prosthetic display. He grabs his usual model for around the house, a frankly silly and simple peg-leg and a clunkier arm. He collapses back onto his bed while unfastening the sleeker models he has on.

Today had been the type of day that made up a frustrating number of his days The only upside of his ten hours of being shuttled from meeting to boardroom was that his personal assistant, Olivia, had decided to be there for the occasion, knowing he’d never manage to keep on time by himself. He hated making nice to an endless stream of old white guys who looked at him with dollar signs in their eyes.

While Jamie didn’t mind making money from many of his company’s branches to keep shareholders happy, he carefully guarded the factions that produced resources for medical advancements. He was stalwart about keeping wages for his employees lowest on the line fair, and donated more than many of his higher-ups were comfortable with.

The standard of ethics he tried to keep meant he had to stay active in management, which had turned him from an inventor into a CEO. It was a role that chafed dearly.

Exhausted as he is as he lay on his bed, his body and mind still tingle with energy. He’d done a lot today but he still doesn’t feel like he actually _did_ anything. He mentally catalogues the bottles and baggies in his bathroom cabinet, wondering what would best do the trick for a night of fun. He could do away with the cramp in his leg easily and maybe head out to-

He closes his eyes. Maybe. Even Olivia had mentioned that he looked like shit this morning, and she was used to his usual presentation. He should probably spend the night like a normal person and relax.

He grabs his phone. It’s been out of battery for the last couple hours and he is honestly so sick of communicating with people today that he hasn’t bothered charging it. Olivia tended to let him know when important things came up anyway. He plugs it in beside the bed and watches the notifications roll in one by one. Emails upon emails, missed calls and appointment notifications, texts and messaging applications and ughhh. He flicks each one aside with his thumb. There’s an unfamiliar number with a short message that appears to be from an actual person, which gives him pause. He already dismissed it along with the others but he pulls up the sms app with a shrug and scrolls through the red ones and twos to find a simple “ _hey_.” from a number not in his contacts.

Jamie readjusts himself on the bed so he’s holding the phone with both hands and can type easier. The message was sent a couple hours ago.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
And what wordsmith poet of yore do I have the pleasure of speaking with on this fine eve?

He finds the motivation to grab his favourite long robe to cuddle in while he debates on what to do with the rest of his night. He supposes he’ll grab his laptop and muck about like a normal person, feeling a bit too sore for the workshop tonight.

A generic beep sounded from his phone; he had a response.

 **Unknown Number:**  
Shut up.

Jamie gasps. It's _him!_ Probably. Maybe.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Mako????

 **Unknown Number:**  
Yes.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Mako!!!!

 **Unknown Number:**  
Surprised you remember me.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
How could I forget! ;o ;o ;)  <3

He swings his foot side to side in the air as he grins and adds Mako’s number to his phone. There’s a pause in the replies and it makes him wonder if he’s overstepped.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Still don’t get why.  
But ok.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
???

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Nothing.

Jamie starts flicking through websites on his laptop, pulling up youtube to see what bullshit the site would recommend him today.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
So what’s a fine young gentleman like yourself doing texting on a night like this?

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Getting ready for work.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Ooo, night shift. Whaddya do?

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Stock work. Boring.  
Surprised you have time to type between shots.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Rude!!!  
I’ll have you know I am staying in tonight.  
I’m in naught but my delicates and nursing some fine wine after a twelve hour shift.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Must be exhausting telling other people what to do.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Excuse you.  
I single-handedly, LITERALLY, single-handedly gave a young girl the gift of her first steps since she was born bereft.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Sorry.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
J/k it was actually just a bunch of meetings.  
BUT they were really BORING meetings.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Poor baby.

Jamie titters and sticks his tongue out at the screen.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
If only I had a big strong man to kiss the boo boos and make it better.

Mako doesn’t respond to that for awhile, and Jamie teeters on the edge of anxiety. He ends up pulling out his vaporizer from an overflowing bedside cabinet to relax and scroll through the internet.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
I’m going to work.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
The fact that you took that seriously gives me hope.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Don’t you have other people to hound for sex?

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
I mean  
Kind of?  
Maybe tonight I just want some pleasant conversation though.  
God Mako, down boy.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Lol.  
Forgive me for assuming.  
What could you possibly want to talk about with an old man.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Idk.  
Just feel like it.

Jamie stops caring as much about what he says as a pleasant subtle high helps him unwind from a long day. There’s an extra long gap this time.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
You still there?

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
On and off. Working.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Cool.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
I still don’t get why.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Geeze you’re a more neurotic cunt than I had you pegged for.  
If I suck your dick will you stop fishing for compliments?  
Wait, I already did that.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
I wasn’t fishing for compliments.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Coulda fooled me.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Sorry.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Rough day?  
Rough life?

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Yes.

Jamie types in his paypal password to toss someone he’ll never meet a few hundred dollars into their gofundme. There, good deed done for the night.

His callout seems to have somewhat tamed Mako’s weird apprehension and they chat for awhile longer about nothing in particular. Jamie learns that Mako works at a grocery store and lives alone. Jamie talks about a couple projects he has going on. It’s small and nice and works in wonderful tandem with the THC to calm him fully for the night.

Mako comes off as judgemental and overly cautious, but he also has a fantastically dry sense of humour and seems willing to go along with Jamie’s histrionics for the sake of a laugh. Jamie likes him.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Wanna go on a date?  
Hang out, I mean.  
Whatever.

Fuck he just went and typed that after a simple pleasant break in the conversation at 4:00 am, didn’t he.

There’s a long, _long_ pause.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
You’re trying so hard it’s almost cute.

Jamie breaks out in giggles at the response.

 **Jamison Fawkes:**  
Didn’t get this far by bein a wallflower.

Jamie forgets his laptop and starts to transition into bedtime mode, keeping himself busy from staring at his phone to see if Mako actually responds to the invitation. Eventually he’s under his covers, satiny world only lit by the soft glow of his screen. He chews on his nails before beginning to formulate a delicate half-apology.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
When?

Jamie’s whoop of victory echoes through the house. They decide on the weekend. Jamie feels more awake than ever and he laughs loudly at himself for being so worked up.

 **Mako Big Sexy:**  
Now go to sleep.  
Idiot.

Jamie’s grin splits his face and he finishes the conversation off with a selfie of him up to his nose under the covers. It takes him a spell to calm back down, but eventually he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt for this one, just some bridging stuff cuz I am ever a fan of writing long distance dialogue. :P
> 
> Danke to Thyme for betaing.


	5. Chapter 5

Mako has no idea what he’s doing or why he’s doing it, but here he is, doing it, like a hapless asshole.

He’s guessing Jamie’s first choice for a first date would have been something more adventurous, but Mako preemptively suggested a simple cafe lunch and walk by the beach. He figures Jamie acquiesced quickly because he was just impressed Mako had suggested anything at all. Really, Mako just wanted a low impact activity he can abscond from when it inevitably turns into a clusterfuck.

_You’re a sick asshole and he’s horny and insane, what could go wrong._

He feels like an idiot in his plain dark slacks, worn sleeveless leather vest and grey heather t-shirt standing on a street corner in a nicer part of town. The area is marked by less skyscrapers and more sidewalk diners. It’s hot as hell and he imagines a good portion of the people walking by are headed to the beach to swim, judging on their attire.

Mako’s eyes flick to his phone. There were no admissions of lateness yet, and he bites back the urge to snark at his date. Not for the first time the thought passes that this is all a really tasteless joke that he’s fallen for because maybe he’s lonelier than he thought-

“Y’came!”

Mako’s attention snaps up at the sound of the familiar, reedy voice. “Parking was hell. ”

Mako has no immediate response, his focus being far more drawn to Jamie’s clothing than his words. He’s wearing a dress. It’s a thin, v-necked slip of black that goes down to his knees and cuts a modern, clean silhouette out of his knobbly limbs and lack of any fat to speak off. His prosthetics today look far more designed for form rather than function. The core of them is nearly absent, as could be seen through the black latticework that made up the frame. There is something rather mesmerising about being able to see through someone’s limbs, but even as he strove to look away, his eyes were inevitably drawn to the dip of Jamie’s collarbones and the cut of his jaw, and how pale he was in comparison to his outfit.

“S’fuckin’ hot, okay?”

Mako’s eyes snapped to Jamie’s, with only a poker face decades long in the making keeping his shame from showing. The younger man appears to have no such skill as he makes a show of checking his phone, and the redness of a likely blush is dusting his cheeks.

_Well, I’m fucked_ , Mako thinks.

“You said you had someplace in mind?”

Jamie immediately puts away his phone; Mako is pretty sure he sees it is still showing its lockscreen. “Yeah! I could go for a bite!” With that, Jamie begins to lead them down the street.

Jamie starts talking about something or other that happened at work yesterday, but Mako is a terrible listener. There’s a lot of people on the sidewalk and music playing from various open-air bars and restaurants. He focuses on what’s in front of him, which is the sharp angles of Jamie’s shoulder blades peeking out from the low back of the dress and the slightly-asymmetrical repetition of his movements as he walks.

_You’re being a creep_ , some voice whispers in his head. _Say something instead_.

“Not to imply anything, but I suppose I should have asked your pronouns at some point,”

He practically interrupts Jamie with his question. Jamie looks back, skipping a half step for Mako to draw alongside him. “S’alright, male. You?”

“Same.”

“Lookit you, bein’ socially conscious!” Jamie grins and nudges him with a bony elbow.

Mako snorts. “Your generation didn’t invent gender theory, you just made it loud.”

“Fair enough,” Jamie quips. “Ah, here we are!”

Jamie steers them towards a fairly bland looking cafe, which Mako initially finds surprising for the eccentric individual. Once he’s inside, Mako gets the catch.

“Not allergic, are ya?” Jamie grins. Mako shakes his head, and follows him to a seat at the cat cafe.

The prices are middling which Mako is glad for. He looks over the lists of drinks and small meals, each with their cliched cat-pun names. After they order, Mako doesn’t miss Jamie getting a few stares from the other patrons, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Go ahead, ask it,” Jamie drawls suddenly. Mako looks to him, reclining on a couch-like seat and stroking a ginger cat in his lap that has immediately taken a liking to him.

“Hm?”

Jamie clears his throat. “You always ask out your casual fucks?” He speaks in a growly low voice, clearly doing his best impression of Mako’s.

Mako snorts in turn before he speaks. “Can you blame me?”

“Nah,” Jamie idly pets the cat, eyes wandering to the window beside them. If he has any worries of the feline’s bright hairs shedding onto the dark dress, he doesn’t show it. “I just don’t have a very good answer. One that I think would make sense to you, anyway.”

“You’ve been thinking about this.”

Jamie shrugs. “I haven’t dated in a hot minute, was curious why too. But the only answer I came up with was that I wanted to. Which has always been a good enough thing for me. You’re always askin’ ‘ _why this why that_ ’ though. Just thought you should know that that’s all I got.”

They’re alerted their food is ready, which brings the conversation to a halt. They head to the counter to pick it up from where it’s been safely prepared away from the roaming pets and head back to their seat. Mako mulls over his thoughts while staring down a cat-faced latte. He tries to come up with a response but mostly his brain is stuck on the fact that he can’t remember the last time he ‘wanted’ anything.

Eventually the moment smoothes over as a kitten nudges one of Mako’s giant hands and Jamie watches in utter delight as it soon settles down on his thick thigh, making him have to eat with as little motion as possible so as not to disturb its rest. He’s never been a cat person but this is doing him in. Jamie looks positively charmed.

The meal is good, and though Jamie ends up doing most of the talking, Mako’s alright with that. He listens more actively, and makes comments, and tries to be more than deadweight.

They finish the afternoon with a walk on the boardwalk that runs along a sun-baked beach filled with too-loud children and preening young people. Jamie treats them to fancy ice cream and eventually the conversation becomes more scarce, and the silences more comfortable.

Jamie looks tired; he’s referenced a number of times already that tomorrow would be another meeting-heavy day for him at work. Mako actually does take a bit of pity on him this time; Jamie is clearly more in his element here in the sun wearing an informal dress covered in cat hair and with a hint of strawberry sauce still on his cheek.

Mako’s phone buzzes in his pocket; a reminder of the time he has to head back home to get ready for work. Jamie pouts. “Guessin’ you hafta take off?”

“Mhm.”

Jamie looks legitimately disappointed and pulls out his own phone as a distraction; a habit for him, it seems. It unfortunately gives Mako enough time and space to take Jamie in just a bit more. As Jamie’s hair blows in the cooling balmy air, and his angles are accented by the lowering sun, Mako realizes that maybe this is a thing he can want.

“Not too far back to my car if ya need a ri-”

Mako leans down and kisses him somewhere just to the left of his mouth. He faintly tastes strawberry.

All traces of Jamie’s melancholy are gone immediately and he practically leaps on Mako to fix him with a proper kiss. Mako grunts and shoves his face away, taking the unseen opportunity to look away in embarrassment; oh god he can feel his face heating up. “I’ll take a ride.”

“Aces!”

Yes, he decides. He wants this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt was junkers in dresses so v.v figured it fit him. 
> 
> Thankankankanks Thyme for betaingngngngng. AND THANKS TO EVERYONE COMMENTING YOU ARE COOL AND I SUCK AT RESPONDING TO ANYTHING BUT THANK YOUUUUU.
> 
> Have a good week ya'll. <3


	6. Chapter 6

Mako has been casually dating Jamison Fawkes for a month or so now. They haven’t really put any labels to the affair, which Mako is more than fine with. He’s happy to do his thing, and Jamie does his, and sometimes they grab dinner, and sometimes they fuck, and sometimes they text each other at five in the morning while Mako toils under fluorescent lights and Jamie gets caught up in his workshop.

Mako has been more or less separated from the rest of Jamie’s life, but last week he was invited to attend Jamie’s birthday party. He was advised that other friends of the inventor would be present, as well as alcohol. Mako figures he can cope with enough beer and a seat in a quiet corner.

He was wrong.

Jamie has apparently rented an entire small club for this event and it is full of a lot of people a lot younger and a lot more inebriated than him, despite his best efforts. Mako sits in his chosen corner, nursing the most expensive, most alcoholic, and most fruity drink he could order in this place full of neon lights and plush seats. Mako has no interest in knowing how much it costs; Jamie assured him anything he ordered would be on his tab. Normally Mako wouldn’t abuse the opportunity but… god.

Jamison is currently doing a shot out of another man’s naval in front of a circle of hollering twenty-somethings and Mako wants to die.

He keeps his attention firmly on his drink. It has a flashing neon base to the cup so at least that’s distracting enough. Jamie had waved at him earlier but otherwise he seemed far too gone with the bright lights and faces around him to really come over. Mako takes another deep sip of the sweetened liquor when-

“Mako?”

He looks over a little too quickly, surprised on account of the fact that no one here besides Jamie should know his name, and the voice is decidedly feminine.

A short, dark skinned woman is sizing him up with bright eyes and a subtle quirk of a smile. She matches this setting much more than he does, with a slick undercut dyed at the tips with bright purple. Her sleek outfit has LEDs woven into it. Mako eyes her wearily.

“Olivia, or Sombra, if you don’t mind. Nice to finally met you.”

The overwrought nickname is familiar at least in passing to Mako; one of the few friends and work associates Jamie likes enough to talk about in casual conversation. His personal assistant, if Mako remembers correctly. He shakes her hand, apprehensive of her and her long nails.

“Oh don’t worry, he’s not babbling your every secret.” Unprompted, Sombra sits down on a high stool beside him. Her feet dangle off, crossed at the ankle, and she regards him with subtle amusement and an unnerving stare. “He did mention you enough that I decided to take a peek into what I could find, Private Rutledge.”

“Don’t.” The word is a clipped growl.

“Fair enough,” she succeeds easily. “Was just curious, that’s all. You don’t seem like his type…” Sombra trails off as she looks back to the partygoers; Jamie has lost his shirt at some point it seems. She rolls her eyes but there’s a fondness to her expression. “And, forgive me if I’m reading too much into this, he doesn’t quite seem like yours, either. I’m intrigued.”

“Is it in the job description of a personal assistant to ask about their boss’s sex lives?”

Sombra’s unflappable demeanor takes a hit for the first time, as she draws her mouth up in a flicker of disgust. She lets out something spanish-sounding under her breath that Mako doesn’t quite catch. “Ugh. No thank you.” She waves her sharply manicured nails. “It’s only good for blackmail.”

Mako raises an eyebrow.

“Anyway,” she continues, regaining her smooth demeanor. “As assistant and security to the most professional of CEOs, I was just curious to meet the man behind the name.”

“Security?”

Sombra smiles. ““I have some... let’s say _interesting_ hobbies. Hacked into Fawkes’ systems and held some important schematics hostage for money. Jamison just shrugged and offered me a job.”

The man in question is currently returning from the bathroom looking barely put together, with blown-wide eyes and a dazed smile. Worry plucks at Mako despite the buzz he’s trying to encourage and the irritation he’s trying to drown.

Sombra catches his glance. “He’ll be fine; I’ve seen him worse than this.”

“Not encouraging,” Mako mutters in return.

Sombra just shrugs. “You’re the one dating him.” She takes a hefty sip of her own drink. “Well, just thought I’d say hi. Give me a ring if he gets in any serious trouble, si?”

“I don’t have your number,” Mako replies flatly.

She just winks and disappears back onto the dance floor.

Mako knows he will spend time puzzling the odd interaction, one that could be construed as a threat for all he can tell, but at the moment he’s just tired. The small, last minute joke gift he’d brought - an ostentatiously bright pen emblazoned with “World’s Sexiest Boss” - is pressing hard against his leg from his pocket and he’s been here for over an hour.

He knows if he wants to be a part of whatever Jamie has going on right now, he’ll have to get up and be a part of the crowd. He doesn’t want to though. He doesn’t belong here, and he doesn’t want to be here.

_Fuck it._

He downs the rest of his drink and slides his phone into his pocket; he can find the nearest bus stop once he’s not in this neon-tinted hell. As he sets the flashing glass down, something loud bumps into his back.

“Mako!” Jamie trills, voice way too loud and right in his ear. He’s almost immediately doing some sort of grind into Mako’s hip. “You’re here!”

“Been here,” Mako grumbles.

“ _God_ , mate… I ever tell you how fuckin’ hot your voice is?”

“Once or twice.”

“Fuuuuck, innit he a beaut,” Jamie’s voice devolves into a mumble, cheek resting on his shoulder. Mako can already feel the drool. “Mm tired of these assholes, let’s go to my place.”

He seems to find his energy in the last half of the sentence, starting to giggle which breaks off into a moan as his hips stutter.

Mako takes a deep breath.

He gets out of his chair, with pointedly little regard for Jamie’s proximity. The younger man stumbles back, and he’s a sad picture. The outfit he’d texted him pictures of earlier while trying to decide on a “look” for the night is in disarray, a button missing from his oddly designed pants and there’s something caught in the joints of his prosthetic elbow. He appears incredibly confused.

“No,” Mako says flatly.

Jamie breaks back out into a too-wide grin.

“Ahhhahaha just like the other night, roight? First night? Don’t care, just fuck me up, Makooo,” Jamie trails off as he tries to side his arms around Mako’s neck. Mako ducks out of the way, keeping his steps quick. He doesn’t need this.

The club is a labyrinth of bodies, lights, and pits of darkness to his alcohol-addled brain, but eventually he finds the exit. Jamie may have tried to follow him, judging by the occasional calls of his name, but Mako seems to have lost him in the crowd.

For a moment, he rests, back against a cool brick wall, and breathes in the night air. The music of the club still makes itself known, a heartbeat of bass vibrating behind him. It reminds him of explosives of unknown origin from miles away, as he huddles in makeshift barracks, unable to sleep.

_No, nope. No._

There was nothing poetic about tonight, nothing nostalgic or nothing of cruel irony. Just a shitty bar like any other number of shitty bars full of shitty kids, shitty music and a shitty old man who doesn’t belong.

At least the fresh air sobers him up enough to fish out his phone to look at a transit app. As he does, the joke pen falls to the ground. Mako doesn’t bother picking it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was birthday/anniversary. ;>
> 
> Thanks assss always to Thyme for betaing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Ey wanna see avengers or smthn  
Been busy and people keep fuckin’ comin up on spoilers around me

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
I guess i should ask if youre into that whole thing first  
Youd probably like it  
I mean people tell me im basically tony stark  
And you like me  
Vis a vi,  
Mako likes the thing  
I mean like gosh im not as handsome as RDJ i say,  
But who am i to deny my fans

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
By fans i mean my mirror

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
I have like three iron man prosthetics that sombra told me im not allowed to wear in public  
She has no taste tho have you seen her fuckin nails

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
There’s a showing at like 10:30 tmrwww????  
Could grab lunch at that one place ya liked  
W the vegan shit  
I mean  
Amazing. Tofu. with the stuff. That i totally enjoyed.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Im getting the feeling you’re not getting my msgs  
>:((((((((( gonna get u a better phone

_Voice Call started with **Mako Big Sexy** , 10:44 PM (no answer)_

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Mako?

_Voice Call started with **Mako Big Sexy** , 11:25 PM (no answer)_

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Makooooooooo  
Oooo  
Oo  
O  
.  
:(

 

 

\---

 

 

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Soooooooooooooooooooooooom  
Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

**Sombra:**  
I’m not on shift today.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
I know that god  
Maybe i’m lonely and want to talk to my good and amazing and talented friend with nice nails

**Sombra:**  
What do you want?

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Mako’s not answering me  
:((((

**Sombra:**  
I’m not hacking his phone.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Wow.  
Rude.  
I wasn’t going to ask that.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
I was going to complain about things for awhile and exchange witty banter with you and *then* I was going to ask that.

**Sombra:**  
As much as I love gossip, and you know I do, I am not even slightly interested in your relationship troubles.  
But if I had to use my 1337 haxor skillz to take a stab at it, he’s probably not talking to you because you ignored him all party then tried to hump his leg like a dog.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
...i’d say that doesn’t sound like something innocent little me would do but you probably have video evidence.

**Sombra:**  
_File Uploaded: **MVI21414_098.avi**_

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
I’m not watching that.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
I watched that.  
Why did I watch that.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Shit.

**Sombra:**  
Okay look.  
You do stupid shit sometimes.  
Like, a lot of the time.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Thanks.

**Sombra:**  
And you know that is literally the only reason why we’re friends.  
But you should probably deal with this like an adult if you are actually attempting to make some sort of meaningful human connection with Mako.  
It’s not really something I can help with, I’m sorry.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
………………  
You said we’re friends.  
:D

_You can not send any more messages to this user. They do not exist or have blocked you._

 

 

\---

 

 

_Okay, hey. Let’s try this again. It’s been, uh, brought to my attention that I was maybe not acting the coolest the other night?_

He types the words, but his finger hovers over the send button. He’s rewritten the sentences multiple times despite their paltry level of content, and has switched his phone on and off and busied himself with other tasks in between.

“Does this mean I’m admitting I’m a bad person?”

The words are muttered into his welding mask as he puts together the pieces for another arm. He doesn’t need more prosthetics; he’s not even particularly inspired. It’d just a task that’s both obnoxiously complex and mundanely familiar to keep his hands busy. He’ll probably trash it later.

“I don’t think I’m a bad person.”

It’s a true statement, more or less. He knows he’s deep in the capitalist kool-aid but he tries to keep things fair for his employees and his patents. He has Sombra send him lists of charities with good reputations. Half his job is spent rooting out corruption and greed.

“S’not about work,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head lightly as he tightens another bolt. “S’about you getting hopped on on drugs and booze and being a moron.”

His canines worry at his lip as he works away, flesh hand sweating under the leather glove he’s wearing for safety and his prosthetic arm joint chafing. He should be resting. He should take it off.

He remembers the party. It’s mostly a slideshow of colours and feelings, bright lights and sounds. There are lots of people around him. He knows them. He knows most of them. He feels a thumping bass in his chest that holds him together while the lights make him push outward and apart. The people are looking at him and they’re smiling. He can smell booze and sweat and they’re smiling at him and they like him of course they like him he’s not alone-

“FUCK!” He flings the welding tool away when he fucks up, nicking the tip of his finger in white hot pain as he holds his project in a less-than-safe way. He yanks the glove off and puts the wound in his mouth, tasting the metallic grit of his workshop and the copper of his blood. He turns off his tools and sits down. After another moment, he takes off his current prosthetic to let the stump breathe.

Jamie rests his head against the edge of his workbench and his boney ass is cold on the concrete floor. He doesn’t know if he’s a bad person, and frankly he doesn’t care if he is.

He just wants his brain to shut up and his skin to stop tingling.

Against his better judgement, he drags himself up off the floor after a moment of wallowing and opens his texts.

 

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Im sorry. Im an idiot. Please come back.

 

He hits send as he makes his way from the basement workshop and limps like an asymmetrical shadow through the modern white hallways to his room. The phone is dropped haphazardly as he collapses into bed, greasy clothing and all. He fumbles blindly to collect one of his sleeping pills without bringing his head out from the covers. He takes it dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo I'm still alive, just have been very busy with a number of projects. Also it's convention season and ho-boy does that take a lot of time and spoons. Anyway, sorry this is short (tho all of these chapters are short that's kind of this fic's thing whatever) but hEY IT'S SOMETHING.
> 
> <3 you all and thanks to Thyme for betaing as always.


	8. Chapter 8

Mako is on break when he gets the text.

It’s a Thursday and two people have called in sick. It’s the night that the flyer rolls over so many of the larger displays need to be switched out. His back is cranky about all of the lifting and his shoulders are screaming from having to lift his arms straight above his head to change the signage on the high rise displays. The manager is taking her lunch in the same room which has him on edge, even though they’re roughly the same age. She’s an old battleaxe who he both admires and loathes for her nigh-endless drive. He likes when people are invested in their job, but no one should be that driven about stocking a goddamn grocery store. Tonight he kind of wants to strangle her.

When the notification from Jamison Fawkes pops up, it’s not the obscenities of the party he remembers. It’s not even the time Mako’s spent ignoring Jamie’s trite, ignorant messages for his own sanity. It’s the brief, but much wider breadth of time he’s spent with the man.

As he chews on a half-stale bun covered in too much cream cheese on a plastic chair that’s too small for him, he remembers the fresh air of the beach. He remembers obnoxiously soft sheets and a partner who twitches and mutters in his sleep while clinging to Mako’s side. He remembers getting caught in a storm after midnight and soaked, see-through views of freckles and thunder playing along with cackling as they raced between the cover of storefront awnings.

The idea of Jamie is both a nudge in the ribs and the impression of cool water running down his sore neck. He reads the message.

_Im sorry. Im an idiot. Please come back._

Mako lets out a huff of a chuckle that makes his coworkers look up from their smartphones at him. His manager’s chair scrapes as she gets up to stretch, signalling that they would need to head back to work soon too.

Mako wants to be mad. Bitterness creeps in at the edges, heavy and haunting much as it has been for the last week. His stupid crush or fling or whatever ill-advised relationship he’d been nurturing seemed like a bad joke at this point. He wants to be mad but he has to get up. His feet protest; he needs shoes with better arch support. He clocks in; he wants to clock out. There’s something dark bubbling in the back of his throat that wants to spill out onto the polished floors reflecting oppressive fluorescent lights. The calluses on his hands feel foreign to him and canned peas are $1.99.

**Mako Rutledge:**  
You free this morning

 

\---

 

Jamie looks like shit when Mako shows up at his door but Mako smells like the container of cat litter that broke open on his pant leg so he’s not one to judge. Sleep-slurred apologies are quickly stifled by morning breath makeouts. They fuck like they’re making up for lost time and then they pass out. When Mako wakes up, Jamie has bags under his eyes but he’s already looking up at him with those brilliantly bright eyes in a daze and a smudge of dirt on his nose. They fuck again, but slower.

“Do you need to work today?” Mako finally asks, voice dripping with exhaustion.

“Like three… four hours ago,” Jamie replies, face half-smushed into a pillow.

“Idiot.”

“I’m not the one-” a yawn interrupts Jamie’s speech. “Who raced over after an all-nighter.”

Mako’s hand engulfs Jamie’s face and pushes him farther into the pillow. Jamie’s giggles are muffled but breathy, desperate for more than a couple hours of sleep. Mako’s arm feels too heavy to move and Jamie nuzzles into it, content to be smushed between the massive palm and an overly-plush pillow.

A moment passes, so quiet that Mako can hear the pressure of silence on his eardrums. Jamie’s half-closed eyes stare at him and Mako is too taken-in to look anywhere else. Why does this idiot manchild have to be so wretchedly adorable-

His thought is interrupted by Jamie bringing his hand up to hold Mako’s wrist. He presses a kiss into the heel of the palm.

_Fuck._

He pulls Jamie in for a kiss, because surely that is the best way to hide the obvious shade of red he is turning. He tells himself he deserves this. He doesn’t know what this is.

 

\---

 

Jamie spends an inordinate amount of money getting a specialty desert place to deliver to his home when they finally get out of bed. He also spends a good half an hour in the mean time to return his many missed calls and make excuses and give orders. It gives Mako time to take a shower and look at himself in the mirror. There are bags under his eyes and hickies on his neck. The bathroom reflected in the glass is nearly the size of his apartment.

He has to work tonight. Transit routes and schedules sprawl through his mind in spider web paths of afternoon schedules and associated costs. He tries to figure out what time he should leave in order to get home for a change of clothes before heading back into the store. He can’t afford to miss a day in Jamie’s bed. He shouldn’t want to.

He’s gotten to daydreaming about the luxurious looking bath when Jamie knocks on the door, beckoning him out. The man is wearing his usual casual silk robe and saggy sweatpants as he leads Mako to the open-concept kitchen area. Mako runs his hand up Jamie’s back to feel the dark silk that Jamie so likes to spend his down-time in, and the younger man giggles before gesturing to the counter.

Mako follows his prompt to see a whole mess of treats from multi-coloured Ice cream to pastel-iced cupcakes. He makes a face. Jamie immediately takes offense.

“What? I thought you liked sweets!”

“I… like ‘em well enough. But how much did this cost?” Mako’s stomach twists. “You know I hate you spending money on me.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Jamie…” Mako’s voice is heavy and exasperated.

“Okay, I ain’t getting up in your shit,” Jamie turns on him, voice rising. “I don’t bother you for workin’ in that shit store or why your clothes are wearing out or why you mutter about the desert in your sleep. So, fuckin’... at least let me treat my goddamn boyfriend to a couple of cupcakes, alright?”

Mako is cowed into silence. He talks in his sleep. That’s a deeply terrifying fact. He thought his clothes were fine? So what if he bought them at a department store and maybe the stitching isn’t the greatest-

Jamie is hugging him and the whiplash interruptions Mako yet again. He closes his eyes and sighs, returning the hug eventually.

It takes a moment, but he mutters “fine,” into Jamie’s hair.

“Aces!”

The man immediately flounces off to grab them spoons and they sit at the counter, much as they had the first morning after they met. The food is significantly more rich this time, sugary sweet but leaving just enough room in its overpowered decadence to want more than one spoonful or bite of everything. Mako savors the creamy soft-serve on his tongue as he makes the mistake of looking at the time.

“I’ve gotta head to work.”

“Really?” Jamie nearly drops the half-eaten cookie out of his mouth. “Shit. I suppose ya do. Lemme call you a cab or-”

Mako stuffs a cupcake in his face, smearing Jamie’s long nose with baby-blue frosting.

“Oi!” Jamie squawks once he collects himself, but there’s an apology in his tone as he cleans himself up and leads Mako to the door. He does at least manage to thrust a box of sugar cookies into Mako’s hands for the road.

“Text me?” Jamie’s voice is hopeful as he stands at the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He’s tall, but from a distance farther than a metre he looks small in Mako’s eyes. Small and too far away. It’s a horrendously mushy feeling that pulls at him in weird ways, especially when the reminder of their phone communication brings to mind the incident that lead them to their brief split.

Mako is standing on the path to the sidewalk from a millionaire idiot’s home with a fistful of sugar cookies and pants dusted with cat litter and he doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life.

“Sure thing,” he says, because that’s all he can say. His voice blends in with the distant sputter of a diesel engine. “Mr. Stark,” he tags on for good measure.

Jamie’s cackles pierce the night as Mako turns the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~ I hope everyone is doing well and thank you for your lovely comments! Here is another brief installment in the lives of these disasters with a side of Gigi's weekly drabble theme, "Sweet Tooth."


	9. Chapter 9

Mako pulls out his phone the second he’s off the clock.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
I have a conference in the states to go to next weekend  
Big showing for my rnd dept… i cant miss it  
Ugh.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
I’m sorry =[

He groans.

The message was in response to Mako typing out all the days he has off next week. He can’t manage running around with Jamison on three hours of sleep anymore; he’s not built for it at his age. Jamison has also been swallowed by work, proving pretty soundly to Mako that the eccentric twenty-something put as much into his job as he got out of it: something rare in a CEO. Though they’d made up soundly, actually meeting up has been rather difficult of late.

Mako coughs into his arm as he gathers his things from work. The last vestiges of a particularly tough cold is still working its way through his system. He’s missed a couple days of work over the last week and he can’t miss any more. He had soundly refused to allow Jamie to come over and get sick too.

Or at least, that's what he told himself. The mountains of crumpled tissue covering the near-endemic layer of dirty clothing and dishes in his cramped apartment may have been a more pressing concern. Shame hung hung heavy in his gut whenever he thought of the state of the place, especially when comparing it to the perpetually pristine halls of Jamie’s modern home. He’s been around the man long enough to know that he’s not exactly careful, but he appreciates his things and his space and probably just hires someone to keep the corners dusted.

It’s not that Mako doesn’t care about cleanliness - he craves it. He just has no love for his current living space and the disinterest compounds with his lack of time and sore knees to create an even more crowded condition.

Dwelling on the state of his apartment makes going home from work feel almost unappealing, but he can’t exactly loiter all day in the produce aisle so he heads out of the doors and trudges to the bus stop. It’s a cold-snap of a morning, and the first frost of the season dusts the grass and asphalt like powdered diamond. Fall has barely begun and he can already see his breath.

At least he has his phone, though. His manager had caught him absorbed in texting one too many times and the woman finally had to put her foot down when she noticed his productivity slipping. Mako had been beyond irritated, but shame and necessity had made him pocket the thing for the rest of the night. He grumbles inwardly about coming off like a child who can’t look away from a device, but these are strange times.

He shoves his big hands in his pockets and waits in the bus stop, wishing he’d brought a heavier coat. The bus comes eventually, and he tucks himself into the morning rush hour mass. He rests his forehead on a metal bar.

He just wants to see Jamie.

 

\---

 

“Can’t believe I called him my boyfriend,” Jamison mutters, not for the first time this week. Beside him, Olivia groans.

“There’s only so many times I can pretend not to hear you speak to yourself, Christ. Focus.”

“I know, I knowwww,” Jamie trails off into a whine, leaning against the elevator wall. “I just-”

Olivia smacks him with her tablet. “Just nothing! Tubman wants your head after missing the Beijing conference call the other day, and you’re going to brown nose him until you can tell what he ate for supper last night. You know he’s one of our more competent directors and if he starts getting bitchy in public-”

“I know.” Jamie pulls at his hair- it’s an old tick that had him partially bald at one point. “I know I know _I know_.”

They’re on the verge of losing an important account. One of his most senior members hates him. Jamie hasn’t gotten laid in a week. He wants a drink. He wants an upper. He wants to see with his eyes that Mako is feeling better. Does he still have his cold? What if it’s something worse? What if he can’t afford the medicine? How much is cold medicine? Will Mako make rent this month after missing work? It keeps coming off like he’s living paycheque to paycheque and it makes Jamie throw every credit card he owns at him but the bastard won’t-

There’s a sharp pain as he manages to pull out more than a few strands of hair. Olivia deftly grabs his hand and brings it down from his head slowly. “Shh, stop that. You’ll be fine. You just need to focus. Boring old white guys now, panicking over your boyfriend later.”

Jamie winces. Oh yeah. That’s what he had been worrying about at first. “He’s not my-”

Olivia shoots him a look.

“Ugh. _Ughhhh_.”

The elevator is here. The doors open and Jamie groans.

“This is important. Boss face on,” Olivia mutters as she steps out. The meeting room is just one hall away.

Jamie quirks half a smile, despite the exhaustion. They walk through the hallway on the thirtieth floor, heels clicking on the polished dark tile. “You know I like it when you call me boss.”

“Yes. I’m trying to cheer you up. Humans are easy to manipulate, boss.”

“Right right. Click here for Sombra’s ten amazing life hacks that will-”

Jamison is cut off by a small noise from his phone. It’s the notification sound bound to Mako’s texts. His stride stutters; he’s probably almost visible to his board through the lightly frosted glass. Olivia levels a wing-tipped glare at him so sharp that Jamie is sure he would turn to stone if it was held any longer.

Jamie pulls out the phone and mutes it, trying his hardest to not look at the screen. Olivia sighs.

“Just-”

“I’ve got it,” Jamie says, voice down an octave and expression tamed. He takes a breath, and he steps into the room.

 

\---

 

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Sorry i couldn’t respond, work was a pain.  
That sucks.

**Mako Rutledge:**  
This sucks.

When he receives no answer, Mako decides to take a stab at being an adult before he goes to bed. He opens a new trash bag just to pile the surface layer of tissues and trash into. Next he collects the dirty dishes and rinses them in the sink for later washing. He then shoves his dirty laundry into the appropriate bin and promptly after he collapses into bed.

It’s not much. It’s pathetically little, honestly. It looks a little tidier but not really any cleaner. It won’t do much to help cull his little family of fruit flies, though at least the chilling weather will handle that eventually. His knees can’t take much more though and the shadows are shrinking as the sun rises higher; he needs to be asleep.

He takes a melatonin and a painkiller that will hopefully allow his back to settle in bed. He has to blow his nose before he sleeps through, and he misses his waste bin while trying to dispose of the tissue. It sits alone on the floor space he just cleared, mocking him.

Mako gives it the finger, checks his alarm, mutes his phone, and passes out with the sun on his eyelids.

 

\---

 

Jamison Fawkes strides out of the meeting three hours later, head held high and brain buzzing. He’s ready to leave the endless talks and sit down at his desk and computer, jotting down ideas and looking into the corners of his company that he’s become most detached from. Olivia had been taking notes the whole meeting and he would have to rely on those to keep his twitchy memory straight.

Jamison Fawkes stands on thirty floors that he built from the ground up and he shakes with barely contained pride. He thinks he’ll start with the auto department. There’s some tweaks he thinks he can make to speed along the development of some electronic parts-

“Good work; should keep them off our back for a bit.”

Olivia’s curt assertion brings him from his thoughts. “You doubted me?” He shoots back, grinning widely.

“Never,” she respond, sarcasm in her tone more obvious than her rolling eyes. She taps away on her tablet.

Jamie’s leg jumps as he shuffles back into the elevator. He hates waiting for this thing. He wonders if he can mess with the mechanics to find something faster.

“Sent you the cliffnotes,” she says. “Remember to email Goulet before you start getting your hands dirty and forget.”

“Roight.” He grabs for his phone, glad for something he can do now as the elevator begins to drop.

“Can’t wait to get out of here. Ugh.”

_**Mako Big Sexy:**_  
_3 Notifications_

Jamie barely hears Olivia complain as the two halves of his mind jar suddenly and awkwardly. He opens the texts quickly.

**Mako Rutledge:**  
This sucks.

His heart sinks. He wants to drop everything and run to Mako’s house. He doesn’t even know where Mako lives. He settles for hitting the call button on reflex and holds the phone to his ear.

Olivia catches sight of the motion. “Oh god _damnit not with me right here_...”

Her fears are assuaged by the familiar sound of Mako’s answering tone. A deep voice barely grunts his own name into the recording before a beep sounds. Jamie doesn’t quite have the words and he hangs up.

The rest of the ride is awkwardly quiet.

Jamie rubs his eyes and then runs a hand through his hair. When he steps out on his own floor, Olivia follows.

“Thought you were heading home?” Jamie says, sounding winded. Olivia holds her hand by the elevator door, keeping it open.

She seems to struggle with her thoughts for a second before scowling. “Just… it’s just bad luck. Things’ll be better.” She steps back into the elevator, eyes pointedly on her tablet and avoiding him. “You’re doing good.” The words slip out as the door closes.

Jamie stares at the metal doors. His phone vibrates a second later.

**Sombra:**  
Make one smart comment and I quit.

**Jamie:**  
Now when have I ever said anything smart?

He chuckles to himself and pockets the phone. He misses Mako and his chest feels tight. He has work to do though, and he wants to do it.

“Just bad luck,” he mutters at himself, cocking his neck until something cracks.

Just a bit of bad luck.

 

\---

 

_You missed a call from Jamison Fawkes._

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Sorry  
Was asleep.

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Work in a few. Ugh slept in.

**Mako Rutledge:**  
I guess i could make a couple hours tomorrow morning if you’re not busy?

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Fuck sorry, was balls deep in my workshop  
Afsdbd  
I promised to come in early to help out a department  
I kicked work’s ass today though I’m doing good..  
Miss you though =[[[[

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Sorry having to put my phone away, boss getting on my back.  
Glad you had a good day

**Mako Rutledge:**  
My throat still feels like shit  
Forgot my lunch  
Sigh.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Shitpiss i passed out earlywas gettin a bit sore myself  
Hope you had a good meal at home

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
My dick misses you too btw

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Would you break up with me if i said i just wanked off in the bathroom at work to that selfie you sent me the other day  
Dont answer that

**Mako Rutledge:**  
The one where I was laid up sick?

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Nevermind dont answer that either.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
MAKO BB HI

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Hi  
Heading out to work.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Ofc.

**Mako Rutledge:**  
I was about to ask how your day was then i threw up in my mouth a little at the normativity of it.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Lmfao  
It was good, havin a drink to unwind tho. Gettin cagey alone at home.  
Except the part where youre not here  
Have u considered a change in career  
I feel like u have the makings of a great secretary  
By that i ofc mean

**Mako Rutledge:**  
My tits

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Your t- ifusdcv

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Pretty sure this place would fall apart without someone to reach the top shelf for them.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
That’s true. P sure ur manager would just straight up cry

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Honestly? Probably.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Serves her right for ruining the future of the greatest secretary ever to strap on a miniskirt and tights.

**Mako Rutledge:**  
As if you could find them in my size

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Bitch i will make them.

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Whoops forgot the part where you owned like five manufacturing plants.  
Shift starting  
Ttyl  
Boss

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
…..goddamn i just got a chub

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Hey so im maybe kind of drunk so this is the worst time to do this but like  
The other day ai called u my uehhhhhh  
Boyfriend  
N you didnt say no but maybe thats cuz we were kinda having a THING u know  
So i dont blame u if like  
Werent rly putting much thought into it cuz i sure as shit cowouldnt  
But i been thinkin and like  
Id like that  
If u were my boyfriend  
I mean not that muvh would rly change  
Unless i guess u wanted it tow??  
But  
Fuck i keep losing my train of thought  
Idk it would be nice  
To be able to say that  
If u dont want to and thas a lil much thats fine  
I just keep thinkin about it  
So i thought is hould say the actual thing

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Holy shit i just typed so much  
Christ im sorryrhfasdfvabahtnryh

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Go to bed, jamie.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
=[ i was waitin 4 u

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
Shit i made it real weird didnt i  
Im sorry

**Mako Rutledge:**  
Go to bed.

**Jamison Fawkes:**  
.. .  
=/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gigi Prompt: Bad Luck.
> 
> Thanks to Thyme for betaing and all yall for reading and commenting and being really lovely.
> 
> I haven't linked it in about 5000 years so here's my [tumblr](http://armatages.tumblr.com/) and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/Armatage_S). I post updates and just. Roadrat shit. Yeah.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to my lovely friends for the terrible pickup lines, and [Thyme-Basalt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt) for betaing.
> 
> Roughly based on prompt: inappropriate public behaviour
> 
> (I have no idea what im doing send help)


End file.
